


Quockerwodger

by mokefer



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Politics, M/M, congressman!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokefer/pseuds/mokefer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers has just been elected into his first term as congressman. </p><p>He meets Bucky Barnes, fellow veteran, on a domestic flight from Washington DC to New York. Bucky recovers from his fear of flying enough to ask Steve out on a date.</p><p>But Bucky is a lobbyist. Working for HYDRA, a private security company, his job is to persuade politicians to favour HYDRA in government.</p><p>Steve’s relationship with him is illegal.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>(AKA the stevebucky political au where bucky isn't the president's son)</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Quockerwodger

**Author's Note:**

> this started off an innocent joke between friends and somehow turned into a 14k monster. i am eternally in debt to [lily](http://www.lilybobthornton.tumblr.com) for being, as always, my literary and political rock. 
> 
> credit is also due to [this](http://sgtbuckbarnes.tumblr.com/post/111886101493) AU post on tumblr for inspiring the plane scene
> 
> i've been a little (read: a lot) artistic with the truth when it comes to political 'canon' for the sake of plot and simplicity. hope that doesn't bother anyone!  
>  
> 
> _**Lobbyist** \- A lobbyist is someone hired by a business or a cause to persuade legislators to support that business or cause. Lobbyists get paid to win favour from politicians._

Quockerwodger

  
**Quockerwodger** n. _a wooden puppet which can be made to ‘dance’ by pulling its strings. In recent years the definition has been supplemented with a political meaning - A pseudo-politician, one whose strings of action are pulled by somebody else, is now often termed a **quockerwodger**._  


  
_07:14 am_

“On your left.” 

Sam Wilson huffs a deep breath as Steve Rogers dashes past him. Sam thinks he notices an extra bounce in Steve's step as his feet pound the sidewalk ahead of them, and pushes himself to catch up, but Steve seems set on ploughing ahead at his own pace. 

“You're never gonna stop finding that funny, are you?” 

Steve breaks into a grin. “Nope.” He calls behind him. 

“You gonna wait up for me?” Sam thinks it's way too early to be shouting this loud. 

“Nope.” Steve's still grinning. 

Sam is struggling to keep up as it is and he can't imagine his legs will hold out much longer. “I'll see you in the office then, Congressman Rogers.”

Steve's smile seems to stretch impossibly wider across his face. “See you there, Administrative Assistant Wilson. Better pick up the pace, don't wanna be late on your first day.” 

Sam shakes his head with a silent chuckle as he pulls back and Steve powers on ahead, blonde head bobbing away into the distance.

 

*

_08:49_

Sam can't help but pause as he passes the shiny new nameplate slotted into the door outside the office - Steve's name and position, engraved in dull gold in the navy blue plastic. He gives the corridor a cursory glance to make sure nobody's heading his way, then whips out his phone and snaps a quick picture to send to his Mom. She always liked Steve. 

“I saw that.” 

Sam jumps when Natasha appears at his shoulder. “It's for my Mom.” He tries to act nonchalant but there's still an edge of defiant embarrassment to his words.

The corner of Natasha's mouth twitches into a smirk. “Sure thing, Sam.”

“Hey, I'm Rogers' Chief of Staff.” Sam reminds Natasha as he follows her into the office. “That makes me your boss now, so maybe enough with the attitude.” 

They walk in on Steve, who's standing behind his satisfyingly clean and empty new desk, fastening his cuffs. His shirt is too small, stretched tight across his muscled chest – the publicists told him it would be good for the campaign, and it's clearly a look he's elected to maintain. The TV is buzzing quietly in the background; Sam can just about make out the low hum of the news reporter. 

_“...amongst the newcomers entering government today is young representative Steve Rogers, one of only six openly gay Congressmen in American history, who won his district by a landslide. He's already set to be a favourite amongst the people and the party and is destined for great th...”_

Steve looks up and notices them. “You're on time.” He's giddy with joy, so overflowing with excitement that even the most insignificant victories merit acknowledgement. Someone could walk in and tell him that President Fury had just been assassinated and it wouldn't wipe the smile from Steve's face. “What's on the agenda for today?”

“You'd think it wouldn't hurt to just use bisexual.” Sam comments with poorly disguised annoyance, gesturing at the TV, and it takes Steve a moment to realise he's talking about the news report. "Considering that's what you are."

Steve turns to look at the TV but shrugs it off. “Doesn't bother me too much. It's better than nothing.” To be honest, on any other day it _would_ bother Steve, but just for today he feels great and wants to think the best of everyone.

Sam gives Steve a look that feels vaguely disapproving. “It'd sure as hell bother me.”

“Let's try stay on task for just five minutes, shall we?” Natasha chastises as they settle round the low coffee table designed for informal meetings like this. “President Fury wants to remind everyone of a few things.”

Natasha lifts her StarkPad (issued to all government staff, as promised by Tony Stark himself, provided congress passed this one piece of energy legislation one time) from the table, swipes up an email and begins to read from it. 

“First of all, I'd like to take this opportunity to let everyone know that the free breakfast pastries in the cafe are now limited to one per staff member since some people are too greedy and don't leave any for anyone else.” 

Sam swears under his breath. “Man, way to ruin this term before it's even started.”

Natasha continues with an amused smile. “Second of all, this government is committed to restoring the trust of the American people. Therefore, any acceptance of bribes from business representatives of any kind will not be tolerated. We clear, boys?” 

The two of them nod, and Natasha closes her StarkPad. “Great. Let's get started.”

*

**Six months later**

_18:32_

Steve slams his briefcase down on the desk next to Natasha with accidental force and she flickers a frown up at him from over her computer screen.

“What time's my flight?”

“Eight. Vote done?” She says without hesitation, still typing furiously. 

“Vote done.” He affirms, shrugging his coat over his shoulders. “What's scheduled for next week?” 

“We literally had a meeting about that this morning.” Sam complains. He's perched on the arm of one of the corporate blue sofas across the room, tie loose and sleeves rolled up. 

“I'm a busy man.” Steve rebuts. Seeing Sam so relaxed makes his own shirt feel like it's constricting around his neck, so he undoes a button and straightens his collar. “Schedule?”

Natasha pauses in her typing and flicks though a stack of paper at her elbow, tugging out a single printed sheet and sliding it across the desk to Steve. “Tour of the community college the morning after you arrive in Brooklyn. Monday AM, legislative briefing on the Convict Protection and Privacy Act, and a few committee meetings.” She reels off in one impatient breath. 

Steve gives the page a once over and then folds it in half and snaps it into his briefcase. 

“What's rattled your cage, Nat?” Sam pipes up. Natasha usually maintains a professionally collected blank slate during work, but today more than a little irritation is shining through.

The crease between her brows doesn't iron out, and she's still starting intently at the computer screen. “This asshole lobbyist from HYDRA is really starting to grate on my nerves. He just won't take a hint.” 

HYDRA is the biggest name in private intelligence and security. Almost all of the government security contracts go to SHIELD, the government's own intelligence organisation, but that doesn't seem to stop HYDRA from trying to gain influence at every level of government – including Steve, it seems, who is on a defence committee - through their closest employees. 

“Well, I trust that he won't get past the Natasha Barrier.” Steve reassures her, though he knows she's confident in her capabilities and doesn't need the compliment. She's an excellent PA, possibly one of the best. 

“You should go.” Is what Steve gets for his troubles. “There's a car waiting outside.”

“Sure.” He slides his briefcase off the table and gives his two colleagues a friendly smile and a nod. “Enjoy your weekend.”

“You too, Steve.” Sam calls after him as he pushes through the double doors on his way out.

*

_19:06_

Steve only just makes it. He has to plead with the hostess at check-in but luckily the manager recognises him and ushers him through. There are a few perks to being low-key famous. 

He's still catching his breath from running to the gate when he sits down – luckily they haven't started boarding yet.

Steve's had to spend a lot of time in airports doing this job, and he feels like he's finally reached a truce with them. He's been through anger, denial, bargaining with Natasha to shift his scheduling so he didn't have to spend so much time travelling, and now he feels at peace with his double life between Brooklyn and Washington. Some days he has to use his flight time to catch up on reading or reply to emails, but today he decides to take a moment to just breathe.

While, usually, a moment of peaceful reflection is a welcome break from the non-stop rush of life in the capitol, today, for some reason, it doesn't sit right with him. The airport is such a hub of life, all the twines of existence joining in one big knot. Steve feels overwhelmed when he looks around him – each person carrying on their back a different chain of experiences, a different set of opinions. It seems a daunting challenge, more now than ever before, to try and encapsulate all those unique strands of life into just one piece of legislation or one decision that will inevitably not work for everyone.

It's rare that Steve is overcome with the fear (or realisation) that his job is, essentially, too difficult to be of any real service to society, but when it hits him it hits hard. He's grateful when they start boarding the plane, and decides his best bet is to spend the flight sleeping off any doubts so he's ready for the college tour tomorrow morning. 

He's always felt uncomfortable flying first class. Even though the travel expenses budget would probably cover it, it seems so wasteful and it's such a short flight that Steve always finds himself insisting that Natasha books him economy class. Today is no different, and as always he has to sit with his back right up against the seat to fit his knees in the meagre leg room. He lets his knees splay outwards to allow him some more room and tucks his briefcase between his feet – flying first class might be too much for him, but keeping sensitive government documents in an overhead locker makes Steve a whole new level of uncomfortable. 

The plane is chilled by the soft autumn night breeze circulating through the open doors, so Steve tucks his coat over his knees like an old man and settles down for a nap. 

Just as Steve is closing his eyes one last passenger jumps through the doors – out of breath, Steve notes. He must have been running to make the flight. He's a handsome man, about Steve's age, wrapped in a coat and scarf with a battered leather satchel clutched close to his chest. Steve prays silently as the man walks down the unreserved aisles that he'll sit in any of the free seats up till Steve's row; but lo and behold, it's the seat next to Steve that the stranger chooses to stop at.

Steve reluctantly draws his knees back together to make room as the man stuffs his bag hurriedly into the lockers, untangles himself from his scarf and drops down next to Steve. He's wearing a suit with no tie, shirt hanging open from where it's been unbuttoned at the top. 

Steve gives him a friendly smile, which the man returns as he buckles his seatbelt. Then he does a double take, and his eyes light up with recognition. 

“Hey, I know you. You're Steve Rogers, right?” 

“I am indeed.” Steve ducks his head humbly.

The man sticks out a hand for him to shake. “James. James Barnes. You're representative for my district.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, James.” It's almost too easy for Steve to slip into slimy politician mode, but he hasn't got his heart in it. It's late and he's exhausted and all he wants to do is have a nap. 

The plane starts rolling and James tangibly tenses beside him. He'd looked anxious when he boarded, and now Steve was starting to connect the dots.

“Flying make you nervous?” Steve asks as they turn onto the runway. 

James is looking a little pale – apart from his high cheekbones and nose, flushed pink from the cold outside. He stares straight forward when he answers, with an uncomfortable smile that disconnects with the words that follow. “Yeah. It was the two tours of Afghanistan that did it. Can't be in any small metal space without gettin' the shakes.”

Steve very suddenly warms to James. “Hey, me too.” He says.

James looks at him. 

“Afghanistan, I mean.” Steve clarifies.

“What got you out?” James asks, working hard to keep his voice level and tone casual as the plane rumbles beneath them and his anxiety tangibly builds. There's a sheen of sweat beginning to gather across the bridge of his nose. 

“Wounded in action.” Steve can feel the scar under his shirt itching like a rash when he thinks about it, overly conscious of it's presence in his skin. “Plane crashed into the ocean.” 

James actually breaks into a small smile. “I was a crash too. Train crash.”

He holds out his left arm and rolls back the sleeve of his blazer. His arm is a bright, shining series of connected silver plates. 

“That's a prosthetic?” Steve can't disguise his shock. 

James's smile almost turns into a proud smirk. “Yeah. Amazing isn't it? Cutting edge. Got it from the company I work for. They were really great at getting me back on my feet once I got home.” 

The plane shifts up a gear and the smirk vanishes, James' hand slamming down to clutch at the arm rest. Steve can see the knuckles of his real hand turning white. There's a film of sweat on the sides of his neck – some has pooled in the hollow of his collarbones. He visibly swallows. He looks white as a ghost.

“Hey, man, is there anything I can do to help?” Steve has to speak a little louder over the engines. 

“Just keep talking.” James asks through gritted teeth. His eyes flutter closed for a second. “If you don't mind. Take off is always the worst part.” 

Steve starts to feel the tug of his eyelids and remembers his plan to nap. He guesses that will have to wait till James feels better. 

“Where are you headed?” Steve's head is pressed back against the headrest by the speed of the plane as it surges down the runway. The exhilarating rush of takeoff is his favourite bit of flying, he can't imagine being scared of it and he feels sorry for the guy. 

“Brooklyn.” James doesn't elaborate. Steve assumes he's in for one word answers.

“Me too.” Steve likes to think he's good at small talk – he's had a lot of practice in the political sphere with various diplomats. “What are you there for?”

“Live there.” James throws a cautious glance out the window of the plane but the rushing scenery is too harsh a reminder of where he is and he sharply twists his head away and focuses his eyes on the back of the seat in front of him. “Work in Washington sometimes.”

“Where do you work?”

“K Street.” 

James reaches up to wipe the back of his hand across his forehead, and Steve's opening his mouth to change the subject when the plane lifts of the ground and his heart drops straight into his stomach. He's rendered speechless for a moment as the plane tilts upwards and the ground drops away below them. 

The sudden jolt into the air makes James jump and he slams his hand back down onto the shared armrest – right on top of Steve's hand. Steve blinks down at it and feels a hot flush of embarrassment in his chest but James seems too terrified to notice and he's not gonna be an ass and point it out. 

The plane is angled upwards and Steve can see James breathing hard and fast out of the corner of his eye. He'll start hyperventilating if Steve can't calm him down.

“Got anyone waiting for you at home?” Steve asks. The plane slowly starts to level out, and James visibly relaxes by just a fraction. 

“Nah.” Steve thinks he sees just a hint of a smile when James responds. “Just me. And a cat.”

Steve is oddly shocked by the presence of a cat – James doesn't strike him as the cat owning type – but he smiles back encouragingly. “A cat?”

“She climbs in through the window and I feed her sometimes.” A full sentence at last. The roar of the engines has dimmed now and James looks like he's starting to feel better. 

“You shouldn't do that y'know, it might have another owner who's feeding it too.” Steve comments. The roar of the engines has dimmed to a low hum.

“I don't think she does.” James pauses and takes a deep breath. His skin is still paper white. “I think she's a stray. She's skinny as hell.”

The plane is cruising now, and the seatbelt light switches off with a ding. 

James scrambles out of his seat as soon as he can, the weight of his hand lifting suddenly from where it was on top of Steve's. James throws a quiet “Excuse me” to Steve before darting down the aisle and into the bathroom. The door, only a couple of rows ahead of Steve, slams shut. A few seconds pass and then he can just about make out the sound of James retching inside. Steve winces. 

“Will your friend be okay, sir?” 

Steve looks up and realises the stewardess is addressing him with a professionally concerned frown. “I'm sure he'll be fine.” Steve looks up with a hesitant smile.

“Just let us know if there's anything we can do to help, sir. Can I take your drink order?” 

“I'll get a whiskey.” Steve says – he feels like this will be a long flight. It's punctuated by the toilet flushing. “One for him too. And a bottle of water.” 

“No problem, sir.” The stewardess smiles wide as Steve hands her his card. 

Steve's just tucking it back into his wallet when the stewardess wheels her cart down the aisle and James drops himself back down into his seat. He's taken off his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up to the elbow. He has broad shoulders and narrow hips – gorgeous, now he has some colour back in his cheeks. 

“I got you a drink, hope you don't mind.” Steve tells him. “You feeling better?”

James makes an embarrassed face when Steve goes to put the whiskey on his fold out tray. “Sorry, I don't know if that's such a good idea.” 

Steve feels like a bit of an idiot, but he shrugs it off with a smile and empties the golden liquid into his own plastic cup. “Your loss.” 

“Could I, uh...” James gestures weakly at the bottle of water and Steve holds it out to him. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem, its all yours.” 

James unscrews the cap with his metal arm – Steve tries not to stare at it – and gulps down half the water in one go. He wipes the back of his hand across his lips. “I'm so sorry about this.” He gives Steve a queasy, apologetic smile. 

Steve shrugs again. “It's absolutely no problem. Anything for a fellow vet.” 

James leans his head back in his seat and closes his eyes. Steve thinks he should leave him be now, but he can't help but say one last thing.

“Sorry, James, I hope this isn't too forward.” 

James opens his eyes a crack and gives Steve a wary look. 

“Stop me if you think this is out of line, but have you ever gotten any kind of help with this?”

Bucky doesn't say anything for a while – long enough to make Steve nervous – but then he swallows and shifts in his seat. “No.” He admits. “No, I haven't.” 

Steve nods. “It's just, I have a colleague.” He says. “A friend. Sam Wilson. In his spare time he does some volunteer work with the VA running counselling sessions for veterans.” Steve chooses not to use the word PTSD. “If you spend a lot of time in Washington, you should come along. Sam's a really good guy, the meetings are always great.”

James pauses again but eventually nods. “Yeah.” He says slowly. “Yeah, I might do that. Thanks a lot.”

Steve nods in return and turns back to his whiskey. 

“Call me Bucky.” He says suddenly, and Steve looks back up at him with a frown. “James Buchanan Barnes. Friends call me Bucky.” 

Steve nods and can't help the grin that spreads across his face.

*  
_20:58_

The landing seems to go a bit better, even though it's always been Steve's least favourite part. Bucky sits silently and breathes with strained control, his face twisted into a determined frown. When they touch down, the whole plane shudders and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. It's not a particularly skilfully executed landing but they still play the little welcome fanfare over the tannoy – that always annoys Steve. It seems wholly inappropriate in contrast to the pale, shaking man in the seat next to him. 

The passengers begin clambering out of their seats and unloading bags from the overhead lockers. Bucky's sliding his coat on slowly. Steve knows he should probably leave the man alone now but he can't stop himself shooting concerned glances his way. 

Bucky shoulders his bag and is about to leave when Steve stops him. “Hey,” He says. “You gonna be okay?” 

Bucky looks at him over his shoulder. “Yeah, I'll be fine.” 

Steve isn't convinced. He shuffles into the queue behind Bucky. “Where in Brooklyn are you headed?”

“Dumbo.” Bucky says. It's not too far from Steve, who has a couple of floors of a brownstone near the river front. 

“Look,” They exit the plane and Steve draws alongside Bucky as the corridor expands enough to fit two abreast. “I promise I'm not some creep, but do you wanna split a cab? It seems a waste if we're both going the same way, and I'll admit I'm a little concerned about you after the stunt you just pulled on the plane.”

Bucky breaks into a smile but doesn't look at Steve. “Seems an awful lot of effort for just one vote.”

Steve falters in his step – Bucky's comment takes him aback. Is that really why he thinks Steve is doing this?

Bucky notices Steve is no longer walking beside him and stops, looking back with a wry smile. “I was kidding, man. I'd really appreciate it.”

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. “Great. I have a car waiting.” 

*

_22:43_

“How long have you lived in Brooklyn?” Steve asks.

Bucky turns to him from where he was looking out of the window. The orange street lights passing by cast moving shadows across his face. Once he was out of the airport he seemed to relax and gained an air of confidence that Steve had only seen glimpses of on the plane. “All my life.” 

“Me too.” Steve smiles. “Brooklyn boy born and bred.” 

The taxi driver is playing some quiet late night jazz station – it's making Steve sleepy, but as he watches the New York streets rush by he also sort of feels like he's in a gangster movie. But one with a romantic subplot.

“I'm surprised you didn't place the accent.” Bucky lets his head flop back against the headrest, exposing the length of his neck. “People say it's pretty strong.”

Steve pulls an apologetic face. “I can't really hear it.”

“Yeah, well, I guess it's stronger some times than others.”

“Like when?” Steve only presses because he's tired and the conversation seems to flow easily between them. 

“When I'm angry.” Bucky's chuckling as he says it. “In bed.”

Steve's eyes meet Bucky's directly at the comment, and it sparks in the atmosphere between them. They sit there in the back, in charged silence, until the car pulls over at Bucky's address. Bucky climbs out of the car and walks round to the pavement, tapping on Steve's window. Steve rolls it down obligingly. 

“Thanks so much for this, Steve. I really appreciate it.” 

“It's no problem.” Steve feels like he's said that a lot tonight. 

“How much do I owe you?” Bucky's reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

Steve waves a hand dismissively. “Don't worry about it.” 

Bucky slowly drops his hand from his pocket. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive. I think you needed it tonight.”

“Thanks.” Bucky says again, his face revealing more gratefulness than his words. “See ya around.”

He turns and starts walking down the road, and Steve gets the strong feeling of a missed opportunity. He reaches down to roll up the window but then he hears Bucky calling out.

“Hey, Steve, wait.” 

The driver, who was pulling out of the spot, brakes. 

Bucky rests his hand on the top of the car and ducks his head down to level with Steve's. “How long are you in Brooklyn?” 

“Till Monday morning.” Steve says.

“Maybe we can give that drink another shot.” 

Steve feels a glow of triumph. Natasha will be overjoyed – she's been trying to get him on a date for months. “Let me take your number. Do you have a card?”

Bucky's eyes glaze over with something that looks like panic, and Steve freezes. Has he read the exchange all wrong?

But as quickly as it appears, the look vanishes, and Bucky's shaking his head. “No, not on me, let me jot it down.”

He rummages in his pocket for a receipt and pulls a pen out from his breast pocket. He scribbles on it with his brow furrowed softly in concentration – Steve thinks he can just about detect his tongue sticking out a fraction of an inch over his delightfully pink lips. 

Bucky caps the pen and slips the paper to Steve, who folds it neatly in four and tucks it away in his trouser pocket. “Awesome.”

“I'll see you around.” Bucky smirks. Steve likes to think he notices a little swagger in his step as he walks away.

*

_23:01_

Steve pays the driver and makes his way to the local 24 hour corner shop, instead of going straight home. The double quantity of whiskey had given him a warm glow that was now starting to fade and he wanted to preserve it as long as possible. 

He picks a bottle of wine from the middle of the price range and, on arrival at the counter and after just a moment's hesitation, one of those big bags of skittles. He's always been a sucker for those products they put right at the counter to tempt you when you go to pay. He slides a twenty across the counter. 

“Keep the change.” He says to the woman behind the counter as she bags his purchases. He's feeling generous, wanting to bask in that small high you float on when you know you've made someone's day.

She gives him a warm smile. “Thanks Mister Rogers.” He hears as he leaves. He turns and waves goodbye before sauntering down the road to his apartment. They're always so nice in there.

His apartment is cold and horribly quiet when he finally unlocks the door and toes off his shoes. He switches on all the lights to try and inject a little life into the place, then flops onto the couch with a full glass and a bowl full of skittles and turns on Netflix to catch up with House of Cards. 

He swirls his wine glass in thoughtful circles and wonders if his life will ever get as exciting as Kevin Spacey's. Even with the skittles, the warm feeling that had wrapped around him in the car wasn't returning. He just feels a tiny bit drunk and sort of dizzy. He doesn't finish the glass.

He's starting to think that maybe it wasn't the whiskey that made him feel so golden.

*

_03:46_

Steve wakes up with a jolt on the sofa. Netflix is displaying the friendly _“are you still there?”_ screen. The bowl of skittles that had been resting in his lap has tipped over and spilled half its contents over the sofa. He brushes himself off, manages to stagger into his bedroom, and undresses himself enough to get into bed. He's asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

*

_11:30_

Steve is honestly not sure how much longer he can spend looking at specialist dentistry equipment. 

“How many other colleges like yours offer this sort of training?” He asks with fake intrigue as they pass a particularly creepy looking set of disembodied teeth. 

“Oh, in New York, it's just us.” The tour guide informs him with a toothy smile. She's head of the department and Steve thinks she has far too much energy considering they've just spent a good hour looking at dentures. 

“Very impressive.” Steve nods. 

“Now, Mr Rogers, our catering students have prepared some cake and coffee if you'd like to come  
this way?” 

Steve silently thanks the community college gods. 

*

_13:12_

The photographer eventually finishes snapping pictures of Steve pretending to be engrossed in conversation with some (honestly) fairly bored looking students, and then he hops into the car and starts the journey back to his apartment.

He's spent the last few hours thinking almost solely about what to say to Bucky. He still has nothing. He still pulls out his phone and opens up a blank text, hoping that something will come to him when he starts typing. He settles with a simple _“Hey, it's Steve”_ , and reaches into his pocket for the number. 

It's not there. 

Then his phone starts ringing. “Hey, Nat.” He answers.

_“Hi, Steve. Listen, I know you wanted to get a bit of a break this weekend but I have a couple of hours spare and I was wondering if we could conference call with Phil on that draft he's had written up? Shouldn't take too long.”_

“Sure. I'll be home in a couple of minutes.”

_“Perfect. Thanks, Steve.”_

*

_13:19_

Steve's still frantically searching his pockets when he gets through the door. He remembers folding it up and tucking it away in his trouser pocket. Where the hell did it go? He catches his reflection in the hallway mirror as he searches through his coat pockets. He needs a shave. He went through a phase just before the campaign where he desperately wanted to grow a beard, but Maria, his press secretary, had told him there was absolutely no way. He still thinks it's a shame – he feels like it would have been a good look on him.

His laptop starts chirping with the bubbly Skype ringtone, and he makes a vague noise of frustration. His first shot at a date in months, and he's fucked it up before it's even started. 

He runs to the couch and tries to look presentable before hitting accept. 

Natasha's face pixelates into focus. She smiles. _“Hey! We're still waiting on Phil.”_

Steve seizes the moment. “Hey, Nat, could you do me a favour? I need some help tracking down a contact.”

 _“Sure.”_ He can see Natasha glancing down at her phone. _“Name?”_

“Uhh...” Steve pauses. He can remember that Bucky was his nickname, but what was it short for? He couldn't think of any names that Bucky could be short for... “James!” He exclaims when he remembers.

 _“You're gonna need to give me a little more than that, Steve.”_ Natasha's tinny sarcasm sounds through the speakers. 

Steve searches mentally for his surname, scrubbing a hand over his face – that's when he notices a slip of paper sticking out of the top of the half empty bowl of skittles. He must have brushed it there last night when he was cleaning up after himself. He reaches out and snatches it up with a gasp of triumph, unrolling it to read the number scrawled across its surface. 

_“Steve?”_ Natasha asks.

“Sorry, don't worry, I got it.” He waves the paper at the camera.

 _“What's this for, anyway?”_ Natasha asks sceptically. 

“Uh, personal stuff.” Steve says, entering the contact into his phone before he can lose it again.

Steve's relieved as hell when Senator Coulson's face appears on the screen. 

Half way through the call he silently sends a text to Bucky.

*

_13:47_

Steve hangs up the Skype call and stares at his phone. Its been sitting blank for the last twenty minutes. 

He gets up to make himself some lunch, and when he gets back with a sandwich, the screen is just lighting up with a reply.

_hey steve. how was college?_

Steve pauses for a moment before he remembers telling Bucky about the college visit in the car on the way back from the airport. 

_Who knew one woman could be so passionate about fillings?_

Steve gets halfway through his sandwich before Bucky replies again. Steve worries that maybe he's being too eager. 

_got any more official duties today?_

Steve finishes his food before he replies, brushing the crumbs off between his hands.

_Nope_

Bucky's reply is quicker this time. 

_would it seem way too eager if i asked to see you tonight?_

Steve thinks yes, it would; his heart says no, it really wouldn't. He's hesitating over a reply when a second text comes through.

_i only ask because an important meeting's come up tomorrow so i wouldn't be able to make it work. i'd like to see you again before you go back to dc._

_That works great for me._ Steve texts back. _When/where?_

 _i know a place. pick me up at eight._

*

_19:52_

Steve's changed into a flannel shirt and jeans and is sitting in his car outside Bucky's apartment. Bucky actually lives close enough that he could have walked, but he wanted to drive so they didn't have to get a cab anywhere. He doesn't want to knock on the door too early and he has nervous butterflies.

His phone buzzes and he wriggles to tug it out of his pocket. It's from Bucky.

_i can see you sitting in your car outside._

Steve turns to the house just in time to see a curtain flicker on the second floor. He feels his cheeks burning. A couple of seconds later the door swings open and Bucky appears. Steve can tell, now he's not being overshadowed by his phobia of flying, that he's a confident man. Steve can see in the way he saunters over to the car, looking over his shoulder to show off his gorgeous profile, that he knows exactly how attractive he is. 

Steve rolls the window the whole way down, and Bucky rests both arms on top of the car, leaning down to the window towards Steve so his leather jacket hangs open over the plain grey t shirt he's wearing.

“So you're avoiding me now, huh?” He says with a smirk. “Hiding out in your car?”

Steve's chasing his words but they're hard to catch when Bucky's looking at him like that. “Uh... no, I, um...”

Bucky pushes himself back off the car with a laugh. “What are you waiting for, man? Let's go.”

“We're walking?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah.” Bucky says like it's obvious. “Come on, it's a nice walk.”

“I'm not complaining.” Steve pulls himself out of the car and locks the doors. “Just making sure you're not gonna change your mind half way there.”

Bucky gives him a wide smile.

*

_21:47_

Two hours later, Steve's sat next to Bucky with an empty plate of what had been the best burger and fries of his life in front of him. He's sitting forward over the counter, loosely holding the neck of his beer with one hand and picking at Bucky's left over fries with the other. Bucky's leaning back in his chair and spinning slowly side to side, dark eyes on Steve with the most gorgeous half smile on his face. 

“Do you do anything to burn this stuff off?” Steve asks, gesturing with his beer at the fries. Bucky, though broad across the shoulders, has quite a wiry frame, much more visible now he's wearing a t-shirt and tight jeans. 

“Yeah.” Bucky says with a mildly defensive frown. “Sometimes. Like, enough. I guess.” 

Steve chuckles. “Really?”

Bucky spins his chair round to face the counter and stops himself with his elbows on the table. “Yeah, actually. I go to the gym a fair bit. I've just fallen behind recently.”

“Naturally slim?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.” Bucky sighs. “Unlike you. I'm surprised they let you anywhere near Capitol Hill with guns that big.”

Steve laughs too hard and loses his balance a little – his chair slowly rotating away from Bucky.

“Oh come on.” Bucky responds, but he's chuckling too. “It wasn't that good.”

Steve manages to pull himself back round and blinks the tears of mirth from his eyes. Bucky's charm and warmth is so contagious; being with him is easy. 

“I don't even wanna ask how many hours a week you spend working out.” Bucky chips in, snatching a fry from under Steve's fingers. “It'd make me feel subpar.”

Steve shrugs and leans back a little. “You know how it is. High powered job, need to keep the motivation going.”

Bucky shifts in his seat uncomfortably and snatches up his own beer, taking a long swig. Steve's starting to notice a pattern when he mentions work.

“You ready to head out?” Steve asks. 

“Sure.” Bucky smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “I'll just run to the bathroom.” 

While Bucky's gone Steve pays for the meal. When he gets back, he gives Steve a lively, indignant look. It seems like he's back to normal. 

“Hey, that ain't fair.” He accuses as he shrugs his leather jacket over his shoulders. “At least let me pay my half.”

“Too slow. It's done now.” Steve holds the door open for Bucky as they leave. “You can pay next time.”

Bucky turns to him so he's walking backwards down the street, his eyebrows raised with a cheeky smile. “So there'll be a next time?”

“Sure as hell hope so.” Steve reaches out a hand to shove playfully at Bucky's shoulder. Bucky grabs it, brings it to his lips and kisses Steve's knuckles roughly with dry lips. 

*

_10:14_

“What's this I hear about Steve and a _date_?” Sam exclaims a little too loudly as he rounds the corner into Steve's office. 

Steve shushes him as half his staff look up. “Keep your voice down, Jesus.” Steve snatches the file he asked for out of Sam's hands and turns away.

“Well?” Sam pushes with a broad grin. “How was it?”

“Fine. Good. None of your business.” Steve says gruffly. 

“Oh come on.” Sam perches on the desk next to Steve. “Give me something. Anything. Guy or gal? Did you get laid?”

Steve gives Sam a dark look. “Guy. His name's Bucky. We got burgers. That's all I'm saying.”

He turns away to the photocopier and Sam bounces after him. “Burgers. As in meat and two buns or is it some kind of...” Sam stutters to a halt when he realises what he's said. Steve glares at him. “I'm sorry, that was unprofessional.”

Steve can tell Sam's apology is empty. He stabs the green button and the machine starts to churn out papers. “Fill me in over lunch? She'd never let on but Tasha is dying to know all about it.” 

“I can't, actually.” Steve flips the page he's copying and slams the lid with perhaps a little too much force. “I'm meeting him for lunch today.” 

Sam's face lights up. “Get in there, Stevie. Should we be expecting you back this afternoon?”

“Yes.” Steve says firmly. “He's flying back to Brooklyn tonight.” 

“Where are you meeting? Can I stop by? I'll make it look like an accident.” At this point, he's just teasing, but Sam finds it way too easy to get Steve riled up and it's always a source of infinite amusement. 

Steve just silently ignores him, and Sam figures he's let this one play out long enough. He claps Steve on the back. “Have a great time, man. Promise me we'll catch up later?”

Steve looks up with a little more friendliness in his eyes. “Sure thing. Don't forget to chase up Barton about that contract.”

“You have my word.” Sam salutes as he leaves the office. 

*

_13:41_

Steve loosens his collar as he pretends to browse the menu. Really, he's trying to guess which of the entrances Bucky will appear in – if he appears at all. He's already eleven minutes late. Steve's starting to worry he won't show up. Maybe he decided dating a congressman was too much commitment to be investing in someone who has to be wedded to their job. Maybe all Steve's talk about going running together freaked him out. 

He scans the menu again, nothing he reads really sinking in, and then there's a flurry of movement in front of him and Bucky's there, clambering into his seat. He's got his coat and suit jacket slung over his arm, top buttons undone on his shirt and a long knitted scarf tangled loosely around his neck. His hair is beautifully dishevelled and the tip of his nose pink from the cold. 

“I'm so sorry.” He apologises as he drops his bag to the floor and tucks his coat over the back of his chair. “My boss needed to talk to me about something and he's like a dog with a bone when he has something he wants to say.” 

Steve's feeling vaguely giddy. “It's no problem.”

“Did you order already?” Bucky asks as he settles into his chair and picks up a menu with one hand, brushing his hair out of his face with the other. 

“Nope.” Steve says, and Bucky looks up at him. Their eyes meet and Steve knows he could stay in this moment forever – in this tiny restaurant, wind-beaten Bucky sitting across from him with a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Ready when you are.”

Steve's already told their waitress before Bucky arrived not to let him pay, and at the end of the meal, over Bucky's protests, Steve hands over his card.

*

_14:22_

They say goodbye outside the restaurant with a handshake. 

Steve leans in to Bucky's ear where he's sure none of the passers by can hear him. “I want you to know.” He starts, and Bucky's grip tightens on his hand. “I can't kiss you right now, because the media would find out and they'd make your life a living hell. But I want to. I just want you to know that.”

He pulls away and Bucky's grinning ear to ear. “Next time.” He says. 

*

_20:32_

Next time they get a lot further than kissing. 

It's a Thursday night. Steve's just turned his phone off aeroplane mode when he gets Bucky's text.

_you in brooklyn for the weekend?_

_Just touched down._ Steve replies. _Wanna come meet me at the airport?_

It's obviously a joke but when he emerges on the other side of passport control at JFK, Bucky's standing there staring intensely at the arrivals boards. 

“Bucky? You really didn't have to do this.” Steve drops his bag to the floor to wrap his arms around Bucky's shoulders in a strong hug. With his level of public prominence he still wants to be careful about public displays of affection, particularly since it's still early days. 

They hold on for just a moment too long, and Bucky deliberately brushes his lips against the side of Steve's neck when they finally pull apart, but it's nothing that would look anything more than platonic to an outsider. 

Bucky snatches Steve's bag up off the floor for him and leads the way out of the airport, Steve following obediently. 

“Night is still young.” Bucky comments as they step into the open air. The chill hits Steve and he's overwhelmed by the urge to wrap an arm tight around Bucky and shield him from the weather. “Want to grab a drink?”

“Sounds great.” Steve smiles.

In the warm, safe, confines of the taxi, Steve wraps a hand snug around the curve at the base of Bucky's skull and pulls him in for a kiss. Steve's face is cold from the outside air, but Bucky has been waiting in the airport so his lips are soft and pliable and his nose, where it presses against Steve's cheek, is warm. Steve feels like he's melting. 

*

_21:57_

In the bar, Bucky takes off all his outer layers apart from his scarf, which Steve is toying with the end of. 

“Did someone knit this for you?” Steve asks after they order their drinks. 

“Yeah.” Bucky says nonchalantly. “I did.”

As if he could get any more lovely. “You'll have to knit me one some day.”

“Y'know what, I think I might.” Bucky tilts his head to pin Steve with an affectionate look and he's filled with a happy, domestic glow. 

*

_22:21_

“You doing anything tomorrow morning?” Steve asks when they're finishing their drinks.

Bucky tilts his head back to down the last of his pint before answering. “Breakfast at yours on the cards?” Bucky delivers the line deadpan but his face breaks into a satisfied grin when Steve's face burns red. 

“I was gonna go to the gym, wondering if you wanted to come with?”

“Sure. What about breakfast?”

Steve is both flattered and impressed that Bucky is still pushing this. “I dunno, my apartment isn't really in any state for guests.” He starts, thinking of the mess he left it in last time he left for DC. He's pretty sure there are still dirty plates in the sink.

Bucky just nods, avoiding eye contact with Steve. “Sure, man, no problem. I understand.”

Steve realises what that sounded like, and backtracks. “We could always do breakfast at yours?”

Bucky's face lights up and he grabs his coat from over the back of the chair. “I'll get the car.”

Steve chuckles as Bucky darts outside, sliding a couple of notes across the bar to pay for the drinks.

*

_08:13_

Waking up next to Bucky is just about the nicest thing Steve could have ever imagined. So nice, in fact, that he spends thirteen minutes longer than he meant to just lying in bed gazing at the way the sheets have tangled between Bucky's legs. He's not even a particularly attractive sleeper – he fidgeted all night, waking Steve up every few minutes when he decided he didn't want to have his head pillowed on Steve's shoulder anymore, or that what he really needed was for Steve to roll over on to his side so Bucky could bury his face in the back of his neck. 

Now, he's taken all the blanket and has his face squished into the pillow. He's snoring lightly. Steve still thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Bucky's cat woke Steve up with its rattling purr and whiskers tickling his face. He'd managed to move it carefully out of the way – at arms length, because those claws looked lethal – so he could get out of bed, and now it was treading itself into the space where Steve's head had been. The cat curls into a happy ball, resting its paw atop Bucky's where it lies on the pillow. It's an adorable scene.

Steve finally drags himself away to get started on breakfast. The way Bucky dressses, a sort of half-assed formal, scruffy hair and rarely a tie or cuff-link in sight, is a poor indicator of the wealth he's sitting on. Steve still doesn't know what Bucky does for a living, but it earns him enough to maintain his apartment, which is airy, light, spacious and modern. He manages to navigate his way around Bucky's unfamiliar kitchen just enough to make coffee, and then returns to the bedroom, armed with a mug in each hand. 

Bucky rolls over when Steve shuffles in, eyelids heavy. “Thank god you're still here.” He mumbles blearily. “I thought you'd gone.”

“Can't get rid of me that easily.” Steve speaks quietly so as not to disrupt the peace, then sits on the edge of the bed and catches Bucky's lips in a deep, lazy kiss. The cat makes a low growl in protest at being so rudely ignored. Bucky sits up into Steve's lips but pulls away quickly to steady the mugs so Steve doesn't spill them. Steve smiles bashfully.

“Coffee first, kisses later.” He prises one from Steve's grip and blows over the surface, eyes on Steve. “Still up for the gym?”

*

_09:46_

Bucky definitely downplayed how much time he spent working out. He does nearly as well as Steve – possibly not helped by the fact that Steve is absolutely unable to keep his eyes off him.

They don't stay for too long – Bucky has a meeting in the early afternoon and Steve's going to meet one of his constituents to talk about homophobic bullying at the school her son attends and how to tackle it in the district. 

Bucky claps Steve on the back when he's done - he's relieved to finish, some guy's been trying to get a picture of him all morning and he never looks good on the treadmill - and Steve turns to elbow him back. “That wasn't so bad, huh?” He teases. 

Bucky smirks around the lip of the bottle he's drinking from. Steve is trying very hard not to get distracted by the way his adam's apple is bobbing up and down as he swallows. 

Bucky wipes the back of his hand across his mouth when he's done. “It was alright.” He teases right back. “Ready to go?” 

When they exit the gym, Steve feels elated, and it's not just from the endorphins. 

They round the corner into an empty street and Steve grabs Bucky's hand and squeezes it hard. In response, using their linked hands as leverage, Bucky pulls himself into Steve's side, stumbling to plant a messy kiss at the corner of his smiling mouth. 

_19:43_

Steve's making himself dinner when Sam calls. 

“Hey, man.” Steve answers, sucking olive oil off his thumb. “How's it going?”

 _“I'm still in the office.”_ Sam sighs over the line. _“Did you get forwarded the minutes from the Homeland Intelligence Committee meeting? Natasha said she sent them to me but I swear I can't find them anywhere and she's busy.”_

Steve frowns as he types in the password on his laptop, leaving shreds of chopped basil between the keys. “What's she doing that's so important?”

_“I think she's got some big meeting with President Fury. She had a face like thunder when she left the office, didn't wanna risk asking her to email it again.”_

Steve chuckles as he drags up the right files and forwards them to Sam. “Done.”

He hears the distant bloop of an email notification at Sam's end of the line. _“Thanks.”_

“No problem.” Steve turns back to stirring the pasta and is about to hang up when Sam makes a noise like he's about to say something else.

_“H-hey, what happened to that friend of yours? B..Billy?”_

“Bucky.” Steve corrects. 

_“Yeah, that's the one. Did that not work out?”_

Steve pauses and leans against the counter. He trusts Sam and he thinks Bucky would be okay with him sharing the 'official' nature of their relationship with a close friend, so he decides to hell with it. “No, it's going well, actually. Really well.”

_“Really? Man, that's great. You get a second date?”_

“Well...” 

_“Third date?”_ Sam waits though Steve's silence. _“Fourth?!” ___

“We've been on a few.” Steve explains. “Got an indefinite number lined up.”

 _“Steve, I am so happy for you.”_ Sam says. Steve can hear the smile in his voice. He knows Sam's had troubles seeking out and maintaining romantic interest - with the demands of his job it's not uncommon, and it's a small victory for all the staff when anyone ends up making a relationship work. _“When do I get to meet him?”_

“I dunno.” Steve says honestly. “Gotta talk to Maria about going public first.”

He hears Sam's loud exhale, frustrated on Steve's behalf. _“Yeah, I guess you do.”_

Steve hears a violent hissing and whips round in time to catch the pasta boiling over. “Shit, gotta deal with dinner. I'll see you tomorrow.” 

_“See you.”_

Steve hangs up and turns the stove down. 

*

_20:03_

Steve's just tucking in to his pasta when the doorbell rings. He sets his glass of wine down with a sigh – he'd been looking forward to an uninterrupted evening. He heaves himself out of his seat, with a longing glance at his lovingly prepared meal – it's not often he gets to take the time to cook himself a proper meal - before jogging down the hall to the front door. 

He tugs the door open, half expecting it to be Tony Stark (who has been known for appearing at congressmen's houses unannounced in the dead of night to convince them to power the White House solely on Arc-Reactor technology), but what he finds instead is a tired looking Bucky Barnes, wrapped in his leather jacket and staring at his shoes. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?” Steve's forgotten all about the pasta. He checks the corridor to make sure his neighbours aren't around, then pulls Bucky towards him and presses a kiss to the top of his cheekbone, which Bucky accepts with a sleepy smile. “I thought you had that meeting?”

“Went to it. Got home. Fell asleep.” Bucky stifles a yawn as if to punctuate his point. “Realised you'd left your jacket at mine. Didn't know what time the flight was so I thought I should bring it to you. Figured you'd miss it if I didn't.”

Steve notices then that Bucky has the jacket from Steve's blue suit folded neatly over his arm. “Shit, didn't even notice I'd left it. Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky tries to hand Steve the jacket, but Steve ushers him inside. 

“You busy?” Bucky asks as he folds the jacket over the back of the sofa

“Nah, nah, not really.” Steve is a terrible liar – his eyes dart away and he scratches the back of his head as he trails off because Bucky's already seen the neatly laid table waiting for Steve's return.

Bucky reaches for Steve's hand and squeezes it. “I'll leave you to it.”

Steve uses their linked hands to reel Bucky back in and wrap his arms securely around him. “Please, stay.” 

“I don't wanna interrupt your dinner.” Bucky protests, but it's half-hearted. 

“There's enough pasta for two?” Steve tries, and from the way Bucky kisses him he knows he's won.

*

_20:47_

They sit at right angles to each other and kick each other's feet under the table. Bucky's metal arm is shining in the dim light it as he taps it against his glass. It makes a pleasant ringing noise, but after a while it starts to grate on Steve's nerves so he grabs Bucky's hand and knots their fingers together to silence him. 

“Enough.” Steve cut him off playfully, using his free hand to spear a lettuce leaf from the salad bowl with his fork and stuff it in his mouth. 

When he looks up, Bucky's smiling at their joined hands fondly. 

“Y'alright?” Steve squeezes Bucky's hand, knowing the pressure sensors will pick it up.

Bucky leans back in his chair, eyeing Steve thoughtfully. “Nobody's ever treated me like this before. Like my arm is part of me. Part of a whole.”

“How do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Well, y'know.” Bucky tilts his head to one side in consideration. “People tend to be kind of scared of it, because it's so different, I guess. When people find out they kind of freak out, and avoid touching it or whatever, but you...” Bucky tenses his arm to squeeze Steve's hand back and there's a whirr of machinery so quiet it would be imperceivable if they were anywhere other than the warm silence of Steve's kitchen. “You treat it just like any other part of me. I really appreciate that.”

Steve just smiles dumbly back, feeling a blush prickle at his cheeks the way it always does when Bucky compliments him. “I guess it just seems dumb to treat you any other way.”

Bucky hums out a laugh and draws in close for a kiss. 

*  
_22:58_

Steve tries to insist on walking Bucky home but he wont let him. “You have an early flight.” Bucky insists as he stands in the doorway. “You need your beauty sleep. I shouldn't have stayed this late anyway.”

Steve leans into the door frame “Buck, it was great to see you.”

“How long you in Washington for this time?” Bucky asks, taking a step closer to Steve and resting his hand on his chest. “I'm gonna miss you.”

Steve casts a wary glance over Bucky's shoulder to the empty hallway, but the coast is clear. “A few days at least.” He says regretfully. “For some reason I've been spending a lot more time in Brooklyn than I should be and there's a lot of stuff I gotta catch up on.”

Bucky breaks into a cheeky, guilty grin, exuding easy charm as he lets himself lean forward into Steve's arms. They've both had a little too much wine, and Steve is less reluctant than he should be to accept Bucky's messy kisses.

“Am I gonna get to see your Washington apartment?” Bucky pulls away to ask. His lips are pink and pouting from the kiss and Steve knows it's going to be even harder now to let him walk away. 

“I don't see why not.” Steve rubs his hands absently up and down Bucky's arms. “When are you next in DC?”

“Tomorrow.” Bucky says too quickly, then shrugs. “At least, I can be.”

Steve tilts back his head with a short burst of laughter. “Fine, okay, tomorrow.”

“I'll bring a toothbrush.” Bucky leans forward to take one last kiss from Steve before he pushes away and turns to jog down the stairs. 

Steve watches him go, smiling when he turns back for one last smirk in Steve's direction.

*

_04:52_

It's the early morning flights that kill Steve, and the cold air chills him through his coat as he climbs aboard the aircraft.

He uses his phone to stifle a yawn, and when he lowers it from his mouth, he has a text from Bucky. 

_have a safe flight. thanks for dinner. i love you._

*

_08:12_

Steve's sitting with Congressman Banner in his office, scratching their heads over a tricky email he has to send to Thor Odinsson - a Norwegian MP who seems incredibly keen to get to know Steve before his diplomatic visit in a month – when Natasha marches in. 

“Steve.” She says, her voice low. “President Fury needs to see you. He's waiting in your office.” 

Steve looks up. “President Fury?”

“Yes.” She says. “Now.”

Natasha's hardly the gushy type, but she's never this short with Steve. It doesn't sit well with him, and that, combined with the fact that despite knowing her for years he is honestly terrified of her, makes him stand up and follow her out of the door without question, throwing only a glance in Bruce's direction by way of apology.

She's steaming ahead of him down the corridor, heels clicking sharp against the marble floor with each step. Steve has to break into a half jog to catch up. “What's this about, Nat?”

She doesn't reply. Steve knows he's landed himself in it. 

She jabs the button to the elevator sharply and folds her arms tight across her chest as they wait. Her fingers are drumming impatiently against one arm. 

“Natasha, can you tell me what's going on?”

The lift doors open and Steve backs up to make room for the flurry of people exiting. He follows Nat into the lift. There's a senator from the opposition running to catch it with them, but she jabs a button and the doors glide shut in his face.

They're alone in the lift, and as it begins its descent Natasha spins to pin Steve with an accusing glare.

“Why didn't you tell me you were dating James Barnes?”

Steve's caught off guard. Is this really what this is about? Do Natasha and Bucky have some kind of history? He falters over his words. “I... uh, I thought I did?” 

“No.” Natasha looks impatient. “You didn't. You told me you were dating a 'Bucky'. Not James Barnes.”

“...Sorry?” Steve tries.

The doors open on Steve's floor and Natasha makes a swift exit, bristling with a still, silent anger. 

When they arrive at the door, Natasha looks like she might slam it in his face, but instead she holds it open for him. He steps gingerly inside and she checks the corridor before closing the door – and locking it. Steve swallows.

Standing behind his desk is President Fury. His presence is particularly forceful in person. Steve feels like a considerable factor in his election victory was the eye patch – he's pretty sure Nick Fury is a man who managed to intimidate his way to the top, and then intimidate half the American population into voting for him.

On the desk in front of him is a low quality phone camera shot of Steve and Bucky leaving the gym.

“Mr President.” Steve sticks out a hand. Fury doesn't shake it, just glares at Steve with one hand on his hip and the other braced against the desk. 

“Take a seat, Mr Rogers.” He says slowly. 

Steve retracts his hand awkwardly and sits. It feels strange sitting on the opposite side of his desk from usual. 

“Mr Rogers, are you familiar with the Honest Leadership and Open Government Act?” Fury asks with fierce enunciation. 

Steve shifts awkwardly in his seat by way of an answer. 

“Let me make you familiar with it.” Fury says with a calmness that is downright terrifying. He looks up as if reciting lines. “It reads a little something like this: 'Congress members and their staff are henceforth prohibited from accepting gifts from registered lobbyists or the entities that hire or employ them.'”

Fury leaves that to hang in the air and there's a moment of tense silence.

“Do you know what that means, Rogers?” Fury presses.

Steve huffs defensively. “Yes. It means I can't accept bribery from companies or employees that wish to influence my stance on policy.”

“Do you know what _else_ that means?” Steve gets a feeling Fury's about to tell him, so he keeps his mouth shut. “It means that going to dinner with, having travel paid for by, or accepting presents from a lobbyist is a federal crime.”

Fury gives Steve a pointed look that leaves Steve feeling like he's missed a step. “I appreciate that, Sir, but could you please explain to me what that has to do with my relationship with Mr Barnes?”

Fury's visible eye looks like it's about to pop out of his head. He spreads the pictures across Steve's desk – there's a sequence of three. The first; Steve and Bucky leaving the gym, laughing. The second; the two of them walking away from the camera, which has zoomed right in to catch them holding hands. The last; Bucky unmistakably kissing Steve on the mouth. Steve feels an indignant blush rising in his chest, angered that people felt the right to pry on and capture Steve and Bucky's most intimate moments. 

“Mr Rogers, you mean to tell me you have been engaged in a romantic relationship with James Barnes for god knows how long whilst being unaware of his chosen career path?” 

Suddenly, everything clicks into place. 

Natasha's correspondence with the difficult HYDRA employee who seemed determined to get to Steve. Bucky's reluctance to discuss his job. His double life between Brooklyn and Washington – he works on K Street for Christ's sake, the hub of all lobbyist activity. The way he strategically kept his distance from Steve, saying 'I love you' over text and never in person. The whole time it had been staring Steve right in the face, and he'd missed it.

“I had no idea.” Steve breathes.

Fury leans forward over the desk. “The only thing standing between you and a highly unpleasant law suit is the very large amount of the taxpayers money that is currently being used to stop these pictures from being distributed to the press. I suggest you tell me the truth.”

“It's the truth, I swear.” Steve stammers. “We never talked about it. He wasn't bribing me.” 

Fury retreats and eyes Steve sceptically. “I need you to think very hard, Rogers, about what this looks like to the press. I need you to think about all the dinners, all the drinks, all the taxis – everything he's done for you. And I need you to think about the kind of ideas he was feeding you, and look me straight in the eye and tell me it was not bribery.”

Steve feels so uncomfortable hearing someone put he and Bucky's relationship in those terms – but it makes sense. He opens his mouth to speak, but he's interrupted by a knock on the door. Fury flips the pictures face down and nods at Natasha, who unlocks it. 

Sharon Carter, Fury's PA, sticks her head round the door. “Mr President, the First Lady is here see you. She says it's urgent.”

Fury sighs and makes his way to the door, slotting the images back inside their envelope. “I better deal with this.” 

“I'm really sorry, Sir, for any problems I've caused.” Steve stands.

Fury turns to Steve as he reaches the door. “I don't need you to be sorry, Rogers. I need you to fix this.”

Steve's left alone in the room with Natasha. 

“Shit.” Steve curses, raking a hand through his hair. “ _Shit._ ”

“Steve.” Natasha speaks with levelled calm to try and pull Steve down from his panic, walks to the Steve's desk where Fury was standing and leans on her hands. “You need a plan of action.”

“Break up with him?” Steve throws the idea up in the air but the very thought of it sends a stab of regret straight into the pit of his stomach. 

“Not just that, Steve. I know his methods, you need to pull him out of your life from the root.”

Natasha's words take Steve by surprise. “You knew him?”

Natasha looks embarrassed, avoiding eye contact with Steve. “He pulled the same stunt with me.” 

Steve's blood freezes in his veins. 

“We were together for six months. He went by James then, which is why I didn't recognise the name. He was one of the only people I ever really opened up to. I thought I could trust him.” Natasha pauses and looks away again. “The relationship was... sexual in nature. Then one day he cleared off. I guess he either got what he wanted or figured he couldn't influence me enough to get to my employee.”

Steve tries hard to block the thought of Bucky's lips on his skin that night after the bar from his mind. It felt like it had meant something, but he guesses it didn't after all.

“Barnes is very good at what he does. You need to go through all your interactions and figure out if you could be held accountable for any of his actions. And quickly, because these pictures are safe in our hands for now, but I promise you we wont be the only ones with copies.”

Steve can't do anything but nod dumbly as Natasha stands to leave. He realises that, until now, he's been holding on to the possibility that he was different from Natasha – that Bucky really did care about him. It's clear now that that's not the case.

As if on cue, his phone vibrates in his pocket. It's a text from Bucky.

_we still on for tonight? i've missed you._

Steve remembers that Bucky's supposed to be coming to spend the night at his Washington apartment after work. It seems like another world ago when they made the plans.

 _Yes._ Steve texts back. _See you at nine._

*

_21:12_

Steve's sitting anxiously in his apartment when Bucky's message comes through. 

_what number is it again? sorry meeting ran over_

Steve responds with the single apartment number and nothing more, throwing his phone to the couch beside him and waiting quietly for that knock at the door.

It comes five minutes later. Steve stands to get it, still in his suit. He wanted to confront this as what it truly is – the termination of a business correspondence, and nothing more. 

He opens the door and Bucky's face shifts from indifference to a warm grin as he focuses on Steve. His hair is delightfully dishevelled, and he's fresh-faced from the cold. He sidles past Steve into the apartment, tugging his scarf off.

“Nice place.” He calls after Steve, who's shutting the door quietly. “I can see why you prefer Brooklyn, though. It feels more homely there.”

Steve keeps an awkward distance from Bucky, waiting for the right moment to bring it up. “Listen, James, we need to talk.”

Bucky closes the space between them, throwing his coat over the arm of the sofa. “So I'm James again now, am I? I think I like that.” Bucky's eyes are burning and Steve knows exactly where he's trying to take this. He can almost see through the artifice now it's been pointed out to him. It disgusts him. 

He pulls back when Bucky reaches for his hand, and their eyes meet. Bucky's face falls. “Oh, jeez. Is this about the text? I know it's stupid, I just, I woke up in the night and I remembered you had the early flight and I just wanted to... I was going to say it in person, I just...”

“Cut the crap, okay, Barnes?” Steve breathes out, exasperated and unable to meet Bucky's eyes.

Bucky recoils, brow furrowed with perfectly crafted innocent confusion. “Steve?”

“I know about... about HYDRA, okay? So you can drop... this. Whatever this is.” He gestures angrily between himself and Bucky.

Bucky looks like he's been slapped in the face. “Steve... I swear, it's not what you think.”

“Do you remember Natasha Romanov?” Steve told himself he'd remain professional, but in the heat of the moment the wound feels much more raw, and his anger is bubbling furiously over. “She told me all about you. About your job, what you do, and how you go about it.”

“Steve, I promise, it's not like that with you.” Bucky's eyes appear genuine but it only fuels Steve's frustration as he's faced with the magnitude of the lies Bucky's had to weave to keep this up.

“How am I supposed to trust you now?” Steve tries desperately to keep his anger under control, speaking in a fierce whisper. “Are you seriously trying to convince me this isn't exactly what you did to Natasha?”

“It's not, I swear.” Bucky pleads. “Not anymore.”

That feels like a punch to Steve's gut. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe it was like that at first.” Bucky, who'd maintained pleading eye contact up until now, allows his eyes to flicker away in a demonstration of his guilt.

Steve scoffs and half turns away from Bucky. 

“Please, Steve, hear me out.” He begs. “When I saw you on that plane I knew it was a golden opportunity for me, for HYDRA...”

Steve wonders if Bucky knows his words are only making it worse.

“...but within ten minutes I had changed my mind. Maybe the Bucky that sat down next to you was working with an ulterior motive, but the Bucky that got in the cab with you and gave you his number certainly wasn't.” 

Steve's swayed by the painful honesty in Bucky's words, but he can't back down, not now. “I need you to understand the position I'm in, Buck.” He says, quietly, patiently. “My job is on the line. I've got the President on my back, I'm facing a potential court case and jail sentence. I've lost the trust of my closest co-workers. Even if what you say is true, I can't afford to see you anymore.”

Bucky visibly freezes. “What?” His voice is barely audible. 

“You heard me.” Steve tries to sound firm but he's thrown off by Bucky's confusion. 

“I... I didn't realise your job was at risk. That you... that you'd get taken to court.” Bucky shakes his head, disbelieving. “I thought this was just about us?”

“This is bigger than us, Buck.” Steve says quietly.

“I'll quit.” Bucky says quickly. “I'll quit my job at HYDRA. I'll quit right now.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it out to punctuate his point. 

In spite of everything that's happened, Steve believes him. Believes that he'd give it all up for them.

“It's no good, everything we could be held accountable for already happened when you were a HYDRA employee.” Steve rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

Bucky looks desperate. “What else can I do?” He asks earnestly. 

Steve takes a deep breath. “I think you need to leave.” It comes out a little harsher than expected, so he adds, “I'm sorry. I think it's best for everyone if we spend some time apart.”

Bucky looks Steve defiantly. “You don't believe me. You think this was all a set up.”

“God, no, Buck.” Steve wants to reach out to him but he feels like it would be crossing a line at this point in the conversation. “I want to believe you. I think I do. I just need a while to myself. I need some time to fix this.”

“I understand.” Bucky nods. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry too.” Steve says, but he doesn't really know why. He just wants to say something to alleviate Bucky's pain. 

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky says. “If we can't fix this – and by this I mean us – I just want you to know I had a really great time with you.”

Steve can barely bring himself to look Bucky in the eye for longer than a second. “Thanks. Me too.”

“And what I said in that text? I meant it.” Bucky says softly. 

The next time Steve looks up, he's gone. 

*

_08:17_

Steve gets in early the next day. There aren't too many people around, but the ones that are throw quick glances in his direction, thinking they're being subtle. It's probably how Bucky feels when he leaves the house with his metal arm out, Steve thinks, but the thought of Bucky makes the prospect of the oncoming days (Weeks? Months? Steve isn't sure how long it will take to clean up the mess they've made) all the more unbearable.

When he arrives in his office he realises why. There are five different newspapers on his desk, each opened to the page where the picture of Steve and Bucky is glaring up at him. Fury was right – they couldn't keep the pictures secret for too long. He hopes it was Natasha who left them there for his information and not someone's cruel idea of a joke.

He picks one up and sighs as Sam walks in and pauses in the doorway to watch Steve read the headline. 

_**Congressman Steve Spotted Sharing Steamy Kiss Outside Gym!** _

“This sucks.” Sam proclaims gently, by way of extending sympathy. 

“You're telling me.” Steve huffs, throwing the paper back down. The one next to it catches his eye – it's the only one without a picture, one of the classier broadsheets. He lifts the corner to read the headline.

_**Congressman Accused in Lobbying Scandal** _

_Legal action is expected following the revelation that representative Steve Rogers has developed a close relationship with a lobbyist, for private security contractor HYDRA, off the books. Records show that Rogers has not reported any of the meetings between the two men, required under federal law, resulting in..._

Steve drops the paper. “They already know who Bucky is.” He says with disbelief.

“Yeah, I know.” Sam sighs. “News travels fast.” 

“I hope nobody bothers him over this.” Steve mutters, half to himself.

“You guys managed to sort it out?” Sam says with mild interest, failing to disguise his curiosity.

“Honestly? I don't know.” Steve circles to his chair and drops his bag on the floor. “I don't even know if we're still together.”

“You've seen him since?”

“Yeah, last night. I kind of lost it at him. Made him leave.” Steve runs his fingers across the grooves in his desk absent-mindedly. “He said he didn't know about the law, that he wasn't just with me because I'm a good contact or whatever.” 

“You believe him?” Sam asks. 

Steve sighs. “I think I do.”

Really, Steve doesn't want to believe him. It would almost be easier if he could just turf Bucky out, cut him off, and blame this whole thing on being misled by a talented businessman with remarkably thorough methods; but he can't. He can't get the image of Bucky's painfully earnest eyes out of his head. Believing him makes this so much harder. 

“I don't know what to do.” Steve admits. 

“Well, Maria should be here when she's done with scheduling.” Sam offers, pulling up his sleeve to look at his watch. “That's probably a good place to start.” He takes in Steve's furrowed brow and adds. “Hey, man, I still got your back.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Steve gives his friend a weak smile. “Means a lot.”

*

_10:29_

After a couple of meetings with Maria, her various PR colleagues, and a few staff from legal, Steve is left to salvage what he can of his reputation. He shoots of a brief and vaguely formal email to Bucky.

_Hi Bucky,_

_I'd really appreciate it if you could take a look through your receipts and send me records of any purchases you made on my behalf, preferably as soon as possible._

_Hope you're well._

_Steve Rogers_

He leans back in his chair once he's pressed send and rubs his hands desperately over his face.

*

_19:09_

The tray of assorted sushi that Natasha put on Steve's desk with an apologetic smile four hours ago is sitting almost completely untouched. To his left, there are about four empty coffee cups. He's spent the last day sitting through meetings, battling to get his head round the legal jargon necessary for his hearing in a couple of days. 

He's had no word from Bucky. He's starting to get annoyed. He opens up a new tab and starts composing a slightly more formal (and passive aggressive) follow up email to remind Bucky to _please_ hurry up. He's typing fiercely when his office phone starts ringing. 

He answers with perhaps a little too much force. “Yes?” 

_“Steve.”_ Natasha greets him politely – all calls go through her before they reach his office. _“I have James on the line for you.”_

“Ugh, good.” Steve pushes away from the desk and leans back in his chair, fixing his tie. “He still hasn't sent me anything and I emailed him this morning.”

Natasha makes a small hum that sounds like a 'Why am I not surprised?' then adds _“The call will be recorded.”_

“Sure. Put him on.”

There's a click as the call transfers. Steve spins 180 in his chair. 

_“Steve?”_ Bucky asks tentatively. 

“Yeah.” Steve says sharply. 

_“Listen, I know you're probably annoyed at me...”_ Bucky starts. Steve has to bite his tongue to stop himself responding with something snarky. _“But I think I've found something that will help us.”_

“Please say it's those receipts I asked for eight hours ago.” Steve injects just enough tension into his voice to let Bucky know he's annoyed.

_“...No.”_

Steve can't hold in his groan of frustration. “C'mon, Buck.”

Bucky tries to shush him. _“No, Steve, it's better than that. I don't have any receipts.”_

Steve's heart drops. In the back of his mind he knows the call is still being recorded and he feels bad for swearing but he can't help it. “Bucky, what the fuck?”

 _“No, Steve, wait.”_ He can't believe Bucky is actually laughing at this, when both their jobs are on the line. _“I don't have any receipts because I didn't pay for anything.”_

Bucky waits like he's expecting some kind of reaction, but it just sounds like a whole lot more work on Steve's plate, sorting through his own receipts. “So?” Steve pushes.

 _“Jeez, Rogers, did those lawyers tell you nothing?”_ Bucky sounds elated. _“So, that means I didn't pay for you. You paid for me. Which is legal.”_

Steve sits up in his chair. “Are you serious?”

 _“Yeah.”_ Bucky barks out in a laugh. _“The gifts clause in the act only specifies that lobbyists are prohibited from purchasing gifts for congressmen, not the other way round. Everything we did together – every drink, every meal, every cinema ticket, you paid for.”_

Steve almost can't believe his ears.

_“If there's no instance of me buying anything for you, there's no case.”_

Steve lets out a long breath of relief, letting his eyes slide shut for a brief moment of peace.

 _“You okay?”_ Bucky asks, concerned. 

“I love you, Buck.” It rolls of his tongue without him needing to think about it, and he's met with Bucky's own sigh of relief.

 _“I love you too.”_ Steve can hear the smile in Bucky's voice. _“We're gonna fix this, right?”_

“Right.” Steve sits forward and is dialling Natasha on his mobile before he can even hang up the call with Bucky. “I'm calling an urgent meeting with the president. Get over here as fast as you can.”

*

_20:23_

The president cleared his schedule to make room for them - Steve is feeling very important. He and Bucky are waiting quietly outside his office. Bucky's dressed in a full suit for once, arms are folded behind his back, and he's buzzing with a quiet excitement. Steve is standing just close enough that their shoulder's touch, a print out of his bank statement clutched in one sweaty hand. Steve hasn't felt like this since he was 14 and used to get dragged into the principals office at least twice a week for being involved in some confrontation or another.

Bucky catches Steve looking at him out of the corner of his eye and breaks into a bashful grin. “You're making me nervous.” Bucky mutters under his breath, but he's still smiling. 

“How?” Steve chuckles. “I'm not doing anything!” 

Bucky shuffles his feet. “The president's in there.” He widens his eyes. “What do I call him? Mr President? President Fury? Mr President Fury?”

Steve's smile stretches even wider. “'Mr President' is probably fine.”

“Ah, Jeez, and look at the state of you.” Bucky turns to Steve. “Your tie's all wonky.”

He brings his hands to Steve's collar in a touchingly affectionate gesture, and straightens his tie carefully. “Much better.” He smooths his hands down Steve's front and then steps back as Sharon Carter pokes her head round the door.

“The President will see you now.” She says with a smile.

*

_**One Week Later** _

_10:14_

“Last questions for Mr Rogers, please.” Maria calls from the podium as journalists shake their notebooks in an effort to stand out. She chooses one. “Yes.”

A brunette in a stylish blue skirt-suit and fierce red lipstick stands and addresses Steve. “Peggy Carter, political correspondent for the Guardian. Mr Rogers, two questions. First, could you confirm for us that Mr Barnes has in fact stepped down from his position at HYDRA? Secondly, could you perhaps shed some light on his decision to leave? Did he believe it would help his situation, if you were to be brought to legal action?” 

Steve leans in to his microphone. “I can confirm that Mr Barnes is no longer working for HYDRA. And in response to your second question; no, he was under no illusions that quitting the position would let him off the hook. He chose to leave for personal reasons.” 

He steps back and the clamour to question him continues. 

“Mr Rogers, I'm here from LGBT publication the Washington Blade. Now the investigation is over and your name has been cleared, what would you wish to say to those who believe your relationship with Mr Barnes was constructed purely to avoid a trial for accepting bribery?”

Steve leans forward slowly. “There's not much to say to that, apart from that they're wrong.”

There's a rise in noise levels and the young man asking the question has to shout to be heard. “Can we take that as confirmation that you and Mr Barnes' remain romantically involved?”

Steve's eyes flicker to where Bucky is standing, leaning against the wall at the back of the room, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes gleaming with a cheeky smirk. 

Steve keeps eye contact with Bucky when he says “Yes. Yes you can.”

**Author's Note:**

> please please please leave a comment below or in my ask box on [tumblr](http://www.sgtbuckbarnes.tumblr.com) if you have anything at all you want to say/ask, if you noticed anything that desperately needs fixing or need any further clarification! hopefully the fic itself is pretty self explanatory. i loved writing this and hoped you loved reading it too!
> 
>  
> 
> _**K Street** \- a street in washington known as a centre for lobbyist groups. the term is a bit dated now (only one of the ten major lobbying firms has its HQ on K street) but i thought it was a nice little reference regardless._


End file.
